


One Last Dance

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, next level
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: Next Level: It's a three way face off at the world championships, with Victor set to reclaim his records. Things go precisely as planned, until they don't, and then Victor's world falls apart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [space_ally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_ally/gifts).



> Katsudon_kisses requested Victor-centric angst, and I kind of cheaped out on the first attempt, so I wanted to try something different, and then I got carried away...
> 
> Have a request? [Go here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9345557/chapters/21171464).
> 
> Sometimes I research these things to make sure they make sense. I definitely didn't on this one.

It was the last minute of the last free skate in the World Championships and Victor Nikiforov had just landed his fourth of five quads. 

No one knew about the fifth quad. 

Not Yakov.

Not Yuuri.

No one.

 _I swore I would skate my best for you_.

Yuuri’s name was tucked up against Yuri’s on the scoreboard, Katsuki and Plisetsky side by side. 

_I will show both of you, my protégés, my rivals, my loves_.

His body was holding on by a thread, exhaustion in every cell, every membrane, every tissue. It had become harder, over the years, to retain that energy. He was aging. The eldest skater in the competition. 

_But on the ice I am timeless_.

He felt the suspense of the audience as, instead of slowing down for his final spin, he built speed. 

_Do you understand, Yuuri?_

Victor flew, flanked by a spray of white, serenaded by the cries of the crowd. 

Landed.

 _Two records reclaimed_.

Only the next instant something was wrong.

The ice met his body, and as he felt it on his face he wondered, idly, how he got there. 

“VICTOR!”

 _I’m fine, Yuuri_.

What was Yuuri doing on the ice? 

_I’m just resting_.

 

—-

 

“I’m — fine,” Victor said, as the world came together around him again. He was on a soft bench, surrounded by medics, who were looking at his leg, touching his hip and temple and asking him questions.

Yuuri was crying. Why was Yuuri crying?

“I’m fine,” Victor said again, smiling. “What’s my score?”

Yuuri’s lips were moving, but Victor couldn’t quite hear him.

Another medic was speaking to him, too. 

What was his score?

Victor looked up at the scoreboard. 

It hurt to focus on the letters, but he knew the combination of symbols that made up his name. They flicked to the top. There it was. His record. He’d won. 

“Yuuri - I did it,” Victor said, sighing with relief. “Yakov…”

He looked to the side, where Yakov was; couldn’t figure out why Yakov looked so upset. Yuri was there, too, and Victor gave a little grin.

Wait, was _Yuri_ crying too?

Something hurt. Something _really_ hurt. 

“- hear us? What is your name?” The medic was saying. 

“You know me,” Victor said.

“Please state your name,” the medic repeated, this time in Russian. 

“Victor Nikiforov.”

“Do you know what date it is?” The medic asked. 

“It’s —” what day was it? It was the day of the World Championship. It was — “February 16”. 

“What street do you live on?”

“I’m already taken,” Victor smiled, twisting to find his partner. “Yuuri.” 

Yuuri was next to him, holding his hand, looking so upset.

“Don’t cry,” Victor said. He wanted to squeeze Yuuri’s hand. Did he? “You can beat my record next year.”

“ _Victor_ ,” Yuuri pressed. “You fell.”

Victor remembered the ice against his face. 

“Am I okay?” he frowned. 

Yuuri shook his head faintly back and forth and pointed to the medics. 

Oh. So they were there for him.

“What’s wrong?” Victor asked, looking to Yakov. That was when he realized that everyone was around him: Yakov, Yuri, even Otabek. He looked down and realized that he couldn’t move his left leg, that there was a wrap around his hip, and ice against his head, and the light the medic was shining in his eyes was — 

Victor choked. 

“I fell?” 

Yuuri frowned. 

“Your leg gave out, and your hip dislocated when you landed,” Yakov said, without any sugar coating, as he stood beside Yuuri. “You hit your head. Probably have a concussion.”

Victor looked at the medic, actually looked, and realized there were bloody bits of gauze coming away from his forehead. That thing that really hurt? That was his hip. He stared down at his body. 

Dislocated hip? 

He felt a chill far colder than the ice seep into his soul.

Then… this was the end.

“You went out on gold, Vitya,” Yakov said, like he’d seen the realization in Victor’s eyes. “With two new records. There’s no better way to go.”

Yuuri was still crying, still holding tight to Victor’s hand. 

They’d already cleared the ice and set up for the closing ceremony; Victor couldn’t decipher what the announcers were saying. 

“It’s time to come to the podiums,” the show runner said, tapping Yuri and Yuuri on the shoulder. 

“Not without Victor,” Yuri growled. 

Victor’s surprise was mirrored on Yuuri’s face, but Yuri stood his ground.

“Victor deserves to be there,” Yuri said, turning away and crossing his arms. 

“Then we’ll get him there,” Otabek said. He stepped up to the bench. No - it was a stretcher, Victor realized. 

“No you can’t —” the medic started, but with one stern look from Otabek he went quiet. Otabek slid an arm under Victor’s knees and behind his back. 

“Are you ready?” Otabek asked, and Victor, realizing what was happening, could only bow his head in affirmation.

Otabek was on Victor’s right, away from his bad hip, but it still made Victor swoon with pain as he was lifted. Had his endorphins been so strong, to mask that ache this whole time?

“Wait,” Yuuri said, and he gently brushed his fingers through Victor’s hair, pulling it down over the butterfly clip to hide the wound on his forehead. He was still crying, but he nodded to Otabek, satisfied with Victor’s appearance.

As Otabek took to the ice, carrying Victor in his arms, the entire crowd rose to their feet in one massive wave. Yuuri and Yuri followed, each with an arm extended in a sober wave of acknowledgment as they tailed Otabek in a slow lap. Victor, one arm across Otabek’s shoulder, lifted the other, and he’d never heard the crowds so loud. He wanted to memorize every single face.

 _This is my last time on the ice_ , he realized. _My final competition_.

He always thought he’d have more time with Yuuri. Maybe he never believed it would end.

His hip was agony, but that wasn’t why he started to cry. 

Otabek climbed the podium after their lap.

“Can you stand?”

“I will.”

With incredible care, Otabek lowered Victor’s right leg until it touched the ground. Victor tested his weight, found he could support it, and Otabek, carefully, mindfully, stepped down and left the ice.

Yuuri took up his position on Victor’s right, Yuri to his left, and in turns they bowed their heads to accept their medals. The presenter climbed the podium to Victor, unable to bend as he was, but then it was done, and the gold hung from his neck. 

Six time world champion.

He looked to Yuuri, who was gazing at him with unfiltered adoration, then to Yuri, who for once didn’t have his haughty smirk.

And then he looked out to the crowd, to his coach and his rivals and everyone he loved, and he raised the bouquet in his arm. Normally he would bow, but now? 

Now he just stood, and soaked in it, and tried not to think about how his life was over.


End file.
